


Abattoir

by AroAceMess



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Angst, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Angel of Death Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Angst and Drama, Blood God Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Butcher Army on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Canon Compliant, Description of scarring, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Lots of drama, Mr philza minecraft my beloved, Pig Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), chaos god dream mentioned, lots of meat based imagery, more god of death, my first time writing body horror tho, overly dramatic Language, pretty much, so much gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AroAceMess/pseuds/AroAceMess
Summary: Body horror dramatic as fuck actual gods Phil  dream and techno au of the butcher army execution sceneThe amount of relief that courses through him when the anvil finally crushes the caged man before him is almost enough to make him collapse. His eyes fill with exhausted tears and his throat with held back insane laughter as the anvil covered in blood and bone and fur crashes through the glass front of the cage and impales itself in the wooden deck below. He stares at the messy puddle of meat and gore before him and for a breath feels triumphant, he made a god bleed today made a god die today.Not ship content :]
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	Abattoir

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is incredibly late to the party but I really don’t care at all, this was mainly just an excuse to write a good bit of body horror gore with awful pretentious and overly dramatic wording. 
> 
> Not ship content at all but just a final big warning for what I’d consider graphic violence and medium ish body horror 
> 
> I refuse to post this anon because I have not a single ounce of shame left in my horrid little body xxx

Quackity has never felt power like this. One god under house arrest and another shackled and bleeding locked in a cage waiting to be killed. He hadn’t felt remorse when he’d clipped phils wings and confined him to his house because death was a threat to the peace and needed to be contained, he wouldn’t feel remorse about killing techno either. Wouldn’t feel remorse about flipping the switch and crushing him wouldn’t feel remorse about scraping remains closer resembling mince meat than a corpse off the wooden platform as the blood god woke up gasping and scarless across the ocean in the fucking tundra. 

There’s a precedent to go through however, he has tubbo read out a laundry list of war crimes and maintains a picture of justice and democracy by consulting fundy and ranboo about the final verdict before pronouncing him guilty and sentencing him to death. He doesn’t even allow the man the luxury of final words, anxious and itching to just kill him already. Punz comes and causes a fucking mess, throwing down tnt everywhere but not setting any off, Phil is stood on his terrace looking down on the scene with abject disgust but what does that old man know. 

In the chaos of the moment he manages to lunge forward and catch the lever with a finger before skidding across the platform skinning his hands and chin more blood to stain his apron. The pneumatics hiss and techno laughs and laughs looking him directly in the eyes snout lifting into a snarl all tusks and teeth. It’s a hundred years in a second as the anvil falls and falls and then finally a collision. 

The amount of relief that courses through him when the anvil finally crushes the caged man before him is almost enough to make him collapse. His eyes fill with exhausted tears and his throat with held back insane laughter as the anvil covered in blood and bone and fur crashes through the glass front of the cage and impales itself in the wooden deck below. He stares at the messy puddle of meat and gore before him and for a breath feels triumphant, he made a god bleed today made a god die today.

He’s coated in the blow back, blood and flesh coat his face and there’s bone chips in his mouth but he doesn’t fucking care. Absently he hears ranboo retching in the background vomiting up his dinner, fundy let’s out a breathless laugh but tubbo stays quiet. Phil’s face is a blank mask of fury and death spreads his clipped wings and they reach from one end of the sky to the other casting a cold shadow over them. For a moment he looks like he’s about to drag their remaining cannon lives from them himself before a blinding green light erupts from the mess in the cage. 

He shields his eyes and turns away lest he go blind but when he turns back the stuff in the cage is moving, the flesh is pulsating the bones fitting themselves together like a jigsaw puzzle working from the hooves upwards tendons and muscle and skin attaching itself again as technos body rebuilds itself from the mush. He can’t fucking move, just stares and stares as a man is built from the ground up before his eyes as skin knits itself back together bones shift into place and thick fur sprouts and grows before his eyes. 

Even the fucking scars stay, the proof that no one had ever managed to kill the blood god - the proof of his survival that marked his skin white lines from swords puckered hairless spots from crossbow bolts and burnt patches from acidic harming pots. Proof that he’d never died, never respawned to a fresh clean new body that held no evidence of former battles survived. The final touches come in, ears where piercing holes remain untouched, razor sharp tusks forcing their way out of a pieced together jaw, long corse hair falling from his head, wild and unkempt without its traditional braid. Pale blue eyes wrench open bloodshot and angry. 

Their communicators light up spelling out the message ‘technoblade has gained the achievement [postmortal] and finally they stir and chaos breaks. Phil folds his wings away and laughs and laughs and laughs, ranboo disappeared somewhere between techno’s death and his rebuild tubbo is stock still he can’t seem to move or react to what happened fundy is armour less and weapon less hopping around frantically and screaming something inane. Techno vaults the bars of his cage and sets off at a sprint setting his still lopsided jaw into place as he goes with a sickening crack. He makes the split second decision to go after him. 

He finds him in a small black stone room surrounded by labelled chests, he’d acquired armour from somewhere and there are various strength and health pots hung at his waist and in his hand is a netherite pick. He looks shifty and when he sees him approaching he smashes the pots on the floor eyes taking on an unnatural red glow. His voice is weak and shaky and full of pure fucking rage as he grates out ‘you’re supposed to be dead asshole, you were supposed to fucking DIE!’ techno laughs at him, fucking laughs and drawls out bored as ever ‘I’m a god quackity, if you want me dead you’re going to have to try a bit harder than that’ he’s tossing the pick from hand to hand his snout morphed into a lazy smile. 

His vision goes red ‘you were supposed to FUCKING DIE! You’re supposed to be waking up in the goddamn tundra a hundred miles from here humbled and, and new and scarless. You were supposed to die and show everyone that you goddamn gods can be killed, that we can take you down and survive without you. Show that death can be caged, war can be put down and chaos can be contained. You’ve ruined everything, YOU’VE RUINED FUCKING EVERYTHING.’ He gets out his axe and makes a blind rage filled swipe at the pig god ‘so techno if there and fucking fight I’m going to win, it’s going to be this one.’ 

The lazy grin goes feral as war raises his weapon and licks his teeth ‘well bring it on, I’ve got a pickaxe quackity and I’ll put it through your teeth.’ Honestly it’s a miracle he gets the hits he does in, adding more war scars to the blood gods impressive collection, it’s techno who wins of course the final blow nocking out his front teeth splitting his lip and driving the end of the pickaxe through the roof of his mouth into his head. It’s him who wakes up gasping surrounded by his concerned friends (in the room techno is panting and grinning he drags the pick out of quackitys head leaving his empty corpse on the floor licking blood out of his fur lest it matt, he spits red on the body and leaves with Carl growling out ‘thank you, for your sacrifice’ as he goes) 

The problem with dying to a god is that it leaves scars, not the raised healed flesh that shows your victory but deep red black marks that show everyone you meet that a god hated you enough to kill you with their own hand. His is an ugly thing splitting the Lower half of his face down the middle ugly tearing through his lower lip and Cupid’s bow. his front two teeth will be permanently gone and theres a chunk missing from his right nostril. If anyone cared to look in his mouth a blood red stain will permanently scar the roof of his mouth where the point of the pick drove up into his brain. An ugly reminder of what happened. 

Fundy and tubbo flit around him as he leads them too the war room Phil yelling joyful insults and laughing at them the whole way. In the war room he screams and rages tearing the defaced images of techno from the walls cursing the air blue and frigid. Fundy and tubbo watch on in shocked silence knowing better than to interrupt him. When he’s done and sat in his chair at the head of the table panting for breath he steals himself drives his axe into the table looks his men in the eyes and says 

‘I’m going to kill that pig and make sure he stays dead even if I have to run him through with a sword every day, if I have to eat his, his body my own fucking self to stop him from respawning’ he lost a canon goddamn life to that dude, the least he can do now is figure out how to kill a god good and proper and take two of his in return. 

Across the ice a tired aching god strips off his armour hangs up a pickaxe still covered in grey matter and wraps up his latest wounds in scraps of clean cloth, forcing down a health pot an a gapple before stripping off his clothes and collapsing into a bed. He dreams of rebuilding himself from the ground up, of his mouth filling with blood and overflowing faster than he can swallow it down pouring out and flooding the house. Dreams of pulling apart a little bird with a mans voice and face, snapping its hollow bones with his teeth and coughing up feathers. He wakes up, washes the remaining gore of himself and carries on. What else can he do. 

**Author's Note:**

> When block pig would be your comfort streamer but he only goes live once every ten years, at least mr Philza minecraft has a regular streaming schedule. If pig bitch don’t got me I know mr Philza minecraft got me.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed and subscribe to technoblade. 
> 
> As always comments and kudos appreciate and have a great day/night xxx


End file.
